Smith: Confessions of a Super Bowl widower

We had a discussion in the newsroom the other day about whether Super Bowl XLVII is the 47th "Annual" Super Bowl, or simply the 47th Super Bowl. I sided with using the word "annual." I was overruled. It's a sign of my cluelessness to most things sports.

Today I'll relinquish the TV to my wife who will be glued to the screen from Super Bowl pre-game analysis to post-game teeth-gnashing.

I wasn't always this way: Athletically ignorant. But it seems as if the years have left me in the dust, the way Jerry Rice left every defensive player in the dust.

For those 49er fans of the 21st century who don't remember the team of the 1980s, Jerry Rice is the all-time leader in most major statistical categories for wide receivers; and the all-time NFL leader in receptions, touchdown receptions, and yards. Kind of like Michael Crabtree or Randy Moss today, only more godlike.

It's hard for me to remember names of players today: Joe Montana was easy.So was Steve Young. But Colin Kaepernick? How do you pronounce Kaepernick's name anyway? Is it "cap-er-neck," "caper-nick" or "capper-neckie"?

Of course I have no trouble with quarterback Alex Smith, linebacker Aldon Smith, or defensive tackle Justin Smith for obvious reasons (although I had to look up their team positions on the Internet).

Somewhere in today's paper there's a poster of Kaepernick and I understand The Democrat's Facebook page hosted a contest giving away a Kaepernick jersey, which I think is pretty cool. But it's beyond me to get the excitement, although I do understand the concept of the "HarBowl." The thought of two brothers settling sibling rivalry across 100 yards in New Orleans by means of 22 huge football players is fascinating psychologically.

I know my wife is disappointed at my football ignorance (as she is with my ignorance about basketball, baseball, and anything else that requires physical exertion).

Once upon a time, we attended -- and hosted -- major Super Bowl parties and I had a great time, wearing a jersey, drinking beer, eating guacamole, drinking more beer, and scarfing down a couple of pounds of chicken wings.

At our first home in Woodland on El Dorado Drive, we hosted a Super Bowl party one year and some 15 people showed up. Everyone was sporting a jersey of their favorite player. My wife, by the way, still looks good in her "Montana to Rice" jersey.

I had put together a big sign in the front yard using wood from some pallets we had at The Democrat to spell out "49ER FANS" and highlighted it with Christmas tree lights in red and gold. Former Mayor Dave Flory saw the display and promptly red-tagged it as being in non-compliance with city building codes.

Today, however, we'll probably watch the game with other members of the family. My wife and her son will review and critique each play, rewinding the "tape" a few seconds every now and then to dissect what happened and gradually get behind until the game is over and we're still on the first quarter.

My wife will most likely lose her voice from all the shouting and yelling -- particularly if I log onto my computer and accidentally reveal the score before she's caught up to real time on TV.

I'll watch the game a little, but also putter around the house doing odd chores, catch up on some reading, drink beer, clean up the yard, drink beer, and maybe even smoke a cigar while I'm drinking beer.

And naturally I'll be rooting for the 49ers to win big over the Ravens -- if anyone thinks that will help.